The sight of sound
by genuinely maverick
Summary: She'd heard somewhere that a person's hearing is the last thing to go before they die. She's glad it's not. Character death.


**The Sight of Sound:**

She'd heard somewhere that a person's hearing is the last thing to go before they die. She'd probably heard it from Dick, given that she'd heard nearly every irelavant factoid she knew from him. This one doesn't seem quite so irrelevant anymore.

She wants to remind him about it, because she thinks it's pretty funny how such a useless sense manages to stick around the longest. Of course, it'd be worse if smell was the last vestige of a human's senses, but hearing's always been pretty worthless for her.

She gets that she's supposed to have the listening skills of a super ninja (hero gig and all), and god knows Dick has all that down pat- but her ears have never been so reliable. There was a time after her father became Doctor Fate that she was sure she could hear Giovani's voice everywhere. She went a little crazy, needless to say. She learned to place her trust in her eyes and touch.

She wants to sigh because Dick is huddled over her and she knows he's crying- she can see it. She can't hear him, though. She can't really hear anything save for a dull, ringing in her ears and she think it's ironic that the blast took out her stronghold sense before anything else.

She's pretty glad he isn't trying to move her to get medical attention, because, for a dying girl, she's got enough sense left in her to know she's not going to make it out of this rubble. She raises her hand to touch the one Dick has threaded in her filthy hair, and summons the strength to smile. Nothing really hurts anymore, which she tells herself is good, but she's vaguely aware that it's probably not.

She thinks she can remember a conversation they'd had one day, staying in bed until noon just because, about how they wanted to die. It wasn't exactly optimal pillow talk, but it was interesting. Dick said something about explosions and fireworks and going out with a very literal bang. She wonders if he's rethinking that now. She maybe said something about getting old and watching the sun set and going to sleep/ death, because that's the way she thought most people want to die, save Dick and his ridiculous extravagance.

It's better this way, she knows. Heroes don't retire, no matter what anyone says. She's distantly glad her father's not really around enough to waste time grieving. She knows Grayson will be a lot safer when he's not hanging out with a maskless Leaguer. She'd always been a liability to his secret.

He returns her smile, shakey and desperate and fearful. Through the hazy grey nibbling at the edges of her vision she sees the words form on his lips, watches the way his mouth trembles around them. _I'm so sorry._

She shakes her head because it's not even his fault, and even if it was she'd probably only be upset with him for a little while before spending her last breaths consoling him. She'd messed up. If she had been more careful, not gone off without him this wouldn't have happened.

_I'm so sorry._ He says it again and she can't shake her head anymore so she just continues to smile weakly at him, her head in his lap as he strokes his thumb over a cheek speckled with blood, saying things she can't quite understand anymore.

She'd lived a decent life, as far as living goes. She'd served her people. She'd come to a brittle peace with Fate. She'd even found time to fall in love with a boy who  
stayed up all night with her making pancakes one time just because she'd had a craving. And that's good. That's all a person really needs to be fulfilled in life, community and forgiveness and beautiful boys and pancakes.

She does regret how long it took them to finally just be in love. They'd taken some time to be in like and then in lust and then maybe in love with other people but not really. In the end things worked out though, so she's not really complaining.

Dick is gripping her hand tight enough that it probably would have hurt if she wasn't so numb. He presses his lips to her forehead, and she relishes in the faint, fluttering warmth. She thinks she manages to croak out a goodbye, because she can feel it in her throat but she's not really sure of anything anymore. The last words that register before she's falling away is his proclamation of love whispered against her skin.

She doesn't hear it. She feels it.

* * *

**AN: Ok, so, um, this happened... Really really short. I know this isn't exactly romantic, but I had to throw some chalant in there just because. Comments are always appreciated!**


End file.
